The Malfoys
by alwaysaclaw11
Summary: The Malfoy family tries to rebuild their reputation after the second wizarding war, but faces dangerous secrets, betrayals, romances and scandals. Different ships throughout. Family, Drama, Romance, a little mystery.
1. E1 - Trials and Sentences - Narcissa POV

My hands shake. The tips of my fingers feel numb under the black polish. I bite my fingernails. I hear mother's voice in my head telling me that it isn't polite, well-mannered, that it isn't pureblood to bite my nails.

I'm a grown woman. Why do I still hear her voice? But I'm a mother myself and I hope that when my son is as old as I am now, he will still hear my voice. But I hope it will tell him that I love him, that I believe in him, that I always will.

My breath catches in my throat. In the center of the courtroom, I see my son, my Draco. He holds his chin up, but it looks like it takes all the strength he has left just to keep his whole body from sagging and sinking and melting into the marble floor.

Where did I go wrong? How did I let my sweet boy end up here?

I hear another voice in my head, but I'm not sure where this one comes from. It's worse, though, worse than mother's nagging complaints. He hasn't been sweet for a long time, the voice says.

Draco's perfectly pressed white dress shirt and black Armani suit jacket hide the bitter proof on his left arm. I thought it would be a good idea for him to wear a muggle suit to trial, to show that we're changing, that we can accept more than one idea. We might not want to. But we have to. The world is changing and if the Malfoys don't change with it we will become obsolete. And if the Malfoys are anything, we are survivors. We value our survival even more than the purity of our blood.

That's not to say we will sully it. No. Only the strongest of magic runs through these veins… the blood of the greatest wizarding families. We may wear different clothes, we may hold our tongues, but that doesn't change what we are.

Pride has become such a part of me that I can't shut it down, even when I need to, even when I need to look apologetic, which I am. I am sorry I let my son and my husband toss their lot in with a half-blood mad man. I'm sorry I watched Lucius break under his pale, unrelenting fist, that I sat by while he stripped the goodness from my son. I'm sorry I let it come to this.

To a trial. To my son's fate being decided by mudbloods and blood traitors and werewolves, I think. But the werewolf is dead. I remember that now. So many are dead. Friends and family of the people who decide our fate.

It's the first time I let myself think it. The first time I let my heart drop to my feet and let my insides swirl and turn black and dark and toxic. As the new Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stands before us, I know exactly where Draco will be tonight.

On the cold floor of an Azkaban cell.

Maybe if I beg them, they will let me take his place?

I hardly hear what anyone is saying. It's just a muddled mess to my ears which have lost the ability to function through my dread. Our attorney said that Draco should not testify on his own behalf. That it would only serve to incriminate him. It's probably true. I can't imagine he would be sober enough to testify anyway.

I really understand what's happening when I see Harry Potter step up to speak. He looks older, more mature, than when I last saw him, when I watched him breathe and felt his pulse beneath my fingers, when I lied to the Dark Lord to save my son.

I lick my lips and taste the heavy flavor of my red lipstick. My eyes glance over at Lucius, who remains as still as a dead man. I'd reach over and touch his hand, but I know if I did I wouldn't feel anything but ice and distance and a love like stale bread.

"Do you believe that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater?" asks Shacklebolt.

"Yes," replies Potter.

"Do you believe he changed his allegiance?"

"I don't know."

"Do you believe he regrets his actions?"

"I don't know."

"Then what, Mr. Potter, do you have to say for him?"

_For_ him?

"Once, he could have given me away and he didn't. He saved my life and I intend to do the same for him."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," says the Minster.

Did Harry Potter just stand up for my son? I want to be happy because this may mean that Draco will come home tonight… maybe not home… but not to Azkaban. I want to be happy because right now public opinion is what Potter says goes. But I can't be happy because I can feel Draco seething from here. I can't see his face, but I know it. I have it memorized. If he is free, Harry Potter will have bought him his freedom.

Shacklebolt stands and speaks. "Will the defendant, please stand."

My son wobbles as he gets to his feet. I was right. He is drunk. The attorney holds him up.

"Draco Malfoy is sentenced to one hundred hours of community service and a fine of 200,000 galleons that will be paid to the Orphans of War Relief Fund."

I can feel my limbs again and move my fingers and let the air flow into my lungs. My son is safe for now and that is all that matters.

For the first time since before the war, I let a smile creep onto my lips. It feels foreign, but good, like expensive wine.

My hand touches my husband's. And just as I suspected. Nothing. Of course there is nothing. He's not in the clear yet. He's been to Azkaban before and he could be going back. Lucius never did a damn thing to help Harry Potter.

And the saddest fear creeps in that he'd trade Draco's freedom for his. I know he would. I've seen him do it before.

Hey everyone! This fan fic will work more like a TV series than a regular book style fan fic. It will be written from multiple perspectives and have different conflicts and resolutions over episode arcs. But it will all surround the Malfoy family, their friends and acquaintances and the trouble they have after the war. There will be different ships throughout as well. Please let me know what you think! I appreciate reviews :)


	2. E1 - Draco POV

I don't stick around to see my father's trial. I honestly don't give a rat's ass whether he goes to Azkaban or not and my mother's not on trial. She wasn't technically a Death Eater and everyone knows the story of how she saved Harry Potter.

My hand wraps around a bottle of firewhiskey and I get sick of pouring it into a glass so I just wrap my lips around the bottle and pour it straight into my mouth, tossing the glass, shattering it against the concrete.

The whiskey burns as it trails down my throat and into my stomach, but I'm used to it by now. I like the pain. I need it.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of muggle money. I blink as I try to sort out how much I have. Plenty, I think. The Malfoys always have plenty.

There is a hotel at the end of the street with a bright red light casting a glow over the street, bouncing off the tops of cars, refracting off the windows and gleaming in my eyes. Burning them. Making them red. Red like his eyes were.

I take another long drink from the bottle. It's illegal to drink like this on a muggle street. If one of their lawmen comes up to me, I'll hex him. Hell, curse him. Avada Kedavra, maybe. Feel the cold wood of my wand as green light explodes from the tip and envelops me. Yes, me. I could end it right here. I could make the pain go away.

But I like the pain and I am a coward. A coward where it counts.

I take another long drag from the firewhiskey. I'm sick of the smoky, sultry flavor. I need something different. Gin or scotch or, if I'm feeling cheap, vodka.

A man in rags with wide white eyes sits in the alleyway, his old fingers fumbling with the wrapper of some muggle sweet.

"Here ya go," I slur and hand him the bottle. He looks up at me curiously, then takes the firewhiskey.

I'm at the door of the hotel. I know this hotel. I've been here before. Many times. They know me. My father owns this hotel.

I look down at the money in my hand again. It's not for a room. I own these rooms. It's for the girls.

I'm so drunk I'm not sure how I get from the lobby to the room, but the next thing I know I'm stumbling through the door to my suite with a girl on each arm.

I can't see or process a lot, but one of the girls has a gold ring in her nose. The other wears six inch platinum heels.

My lips press to the ring girl's mouth. I feel nothing but chapped skin and taste nothing but the remnants of her gin martini. I kiss harder but that's all it is. Skin and alcohol and raw, exposed nothingness.

I grab the other girl and she laughs as I run my hand down her body, wishing to feel something other than polyester and sequins and the too sharp angle of her hip bone.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy," she purrs in my ear, but I hear nothing other than syllables constructed of symbols. They mean nothing. They are nothing. I am nothing.

I let them kiss me and I kiss them because that's all there is. And I don't have a good enough reason not to let them push me back against the bed, to not get my money's worth.

The next morning, I wake up and I'm alone. And I pour scotch into my bowl of Cheerios.

A week passes in that hotel room. I have no idea if Father is in jail or not. But I still do not care. There is a tapping on the window glass. I pull myself out of bed and wrap a sheet around my naked body before sliding open the window and letting the owl in.

I tug the letter off its leg.

_Draco Malfoy,_

_You must report for your community service tomorrow at 8:00 a.m at the Ministry of Magic. Do not be late._

_Sincerely,_

_Ronald Weasley_

I crumple up the note and toss it in the trash bin. Weasley, seriously. I'd take Azkaban over that prat any day.

I crash down on the bed, letting the sheet fall off me. What time is it anyway? I just woke up. My eyes flash to the clock on the wall. 3:45 in the afternoon.

Like hell I was going anywhere at eight in the morning.

There's a knock at the door and even though I'm sprawled out on the bed, half-asleep, half-drunk and totally naked, I say, "Come in."

The door squeaks open. Whoever it is has a key. The maid? The concierge?

"For the love of Merlin, put some clothes on!" a girl shrieks. I blink a couple of times.

"Astoria?" Or she knows alohomora.

She averts her eyes as I grab a pair of pants off the floor and pull them over my legs.

"Seriously, Malfoy. What is wrong with you? And don't you have a maid service?" She picks up a pair of my underwear with a fork. "How can you be so disgusting?"

"What are you doing here?" I groan.

"Your mum wanted me to check in on you."

"Why didn't she come here herself then?"

Astoria sighs then uses the fork to pick up a green lacy bra. I have no idea which girl that is from. "You want your mother to see this?"

Draco just shrugs. Astoria has been one of the only people who has put up with me since the war ended.

"Your Father was given a similar sentence," she says.

"I don't care." He's not in Azkaban. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Nothing. That's how I feel.

"You should go home Draco."

Back to that place. No way. That place with blood on the floor and ghosts in eaves and nightmares in the basement. Never.

"You want some scotch?" I ask.

Astoria purses her lips. She always looks so perfect, unblemished, in her high heels and designer dress and strands of pearls. Not like me with my purple ringed eyes and bitter breath. "I'm late for work, but I've ordered you dinner. The kind with protein and carbs and everything. And owl your mum. Please."

I roll my eyes and Astoria smiles then walks out the door. She knows that means I'll do it. And I will. After I pour myself this drink.

**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Let me know what you think so far :)**


	3. E1 - Hermione

"Ron!" I shout as I hear the retching sounds coming from the bathroom. I crawl out of warm, just slept-in bed and knock on the the door. "Baby, are you okay?"

It's a pretty stupid question considering.

"I'm fine," he groans. "I just ate some bad pork last-"

The hurling sound starts again. I'm feeling a little queasy myself listening to him so I walk to the kitchen, flick my wand and listen to the sound of the coffee spitting and breathe in the sweet smell. I hope this doesn't make Ron sicker.

When its done, I pour some into a mug and take a sip. Ron hops around the boxes, looking a sickly shade of green. We still haven't unpacked and its like every time I know I should, I find another reason not to. I'm not sure why. I don't want to say it's because we moved in too quickly. That wouldn't be fair. But it's probably because we moved in together too quickly.

After the war it felt like we had all the time in the world and some how no time at all. We faced death and mortality and maybe we made some bad choices in that strange mix of joy and fear.

But it doesn't matter now. I love Ron. I love his messy red hair. The sound of his snore. The smell of his shampoo.

"Are you sure you should go to work?" I ask.

"Have to. I'm overseeing Malfoy's community service today."

"Oh Merlin. What are you going to make him do? Scrub toilets?"

"No but that's a good one." He laughs, but he's so weak that it knocks him off balance. I have to hold him up.

"I'll take care of it," I say.

"Take care of what?" he asks as I walk him back to bed.

"Malfoy's community service."

"I can't ask you to"

"It's fine," I say and kiss him on the forehead. It's hot. Probably more than bad pork. "I'll pick you up a fever potion on the way home."

"Love you, 'Mione."

I sigh. "Love you too, Ron."

I wait in Ron's office, swirling back and forth on his chair. He's got a jar of Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans on his desk, so I pop them in my mouth until I get one that tastes like vomit. I spit it into the trash can then glance down at my watch.

Malfoy is late. An hour late.

I'm about to give up and go home when I smell the heavy, bitter stench of alcohol stream in through the door and pinch my nostrils.

Malfoy stands in my door, pressed pants, white shirt and a green tie. I'm not sure what he thinks we will be doing, but it's not something that requires a work-formal dress code. My eyes trace the slender line of his body until I meet his grey gaze. Something between my ribcage clenches. Where there used to be arrogance and hate reflected in his gaze, now all that's there is bitterness and the kind of sadness usually reserved for gravestones.

I try not to think about it as I stand from my chair and dust the lint off my blue pencil skirt.

"I thought I was meeting your husband," he says.

"He's not my husband," I reply way faster than I should've and I'm not sure why. "He's my boyfriend and he caught a bug or something, so I'm here. Is that a problem?"

He steps into the room, and although his eyes don't match, his lips twist into the smug sneer I remember from Hogwarts. "Not a problem at all." The closer he gets the stronger the stench of the alcohol becomes.

"Are you drunk?" I ask.

He laughs. "No, Granger. I'm not drunk. You'd know if I was drunk."

What does he mean by that? I can smell the firewhiskey. It's obvious. The only thing I can think is that he means that he gets much drunker than this. I'm not sure what to do with that information.

"Well today it looks like you will be doing some community clean up for parts of Diagon Alley that were destroyed during the war. We should get going."

I try to step toward the door, but Malfoy blocks my way. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Since Weasley's not here… maybe there's another way we could work off my one hundred hours." His thin, but remarkably elegant hand reaches toward my hair. My muscles tense and I look him in the eye.

"You might want to rethink that move," I snap.

His lips crack open in a laugh. "If you change your mind."

I shove past him. "Not if you were the last person on earth."

We use the floo to Diagon Alley where we meet up with the clean-up supervisor, Maurice. He's a tall man with crooked teeth and one eye that's nothing but milky white.

He slams a hard hat on Malfoy's head who looks like he's about to hex us both, fists and teeth clenched, but he doesn't complain.

I leave him with Maurice and get a butterbeer from The Leaky Cauldron. I don't know why but I get two. Maybe if Malfoy does what he's supposed to, I'll give it to him.

I sit on a brass bench across from the site, the hot metal stings my legs, but I become accustomed to it, the way a person becomes accustomed to anything they're exposed to for a long time. Like pain, or even happiness, or people, maybe, sometimes too.

Malfoy's sleeves are rolled up, exposing his Dark Mark. As he digs through the debris, the muscles and veins beneath the tattoo flex and move and it seems hotter out here all of the sudden. I think it's because the sun moved out from behind that cloud. Yes that's it.

Malfoy wipes the sweat from his brow and I look down at my watch. His three hours are almost up. My stomach growls. It's lunch time. I'm hungry. He's probably hungry too - after all that work. Not that it matters.

"Time's up," I shout to Malfoy. He looks up at me and drops the shovel. He pulls his work gloves off one finger at a time, then tosses them on a broken pile of wood and walks away without a word.

I look down at the cold bottle in my hands. I'd put a cooling charm on it to keep it nice and icy. I was going to give it to him…

Oh well. I pop it open for myself and take a drink. I adjust the collar of my shirt because it's sticking to my neck from the heat and the sweat.

There aren't too many people here today between the weather and the renovations, but when I look up at one of the vacant buildings I see two silhouettes, their both waving their arms frantically. It looks like they're arguing, but who are they? And what are they fighting about in an abandoned Diagon Alley building?

**Let me know what you think so far. Please read and review! Thanks **


	4. E1 - Lucius

"I'll get you the money," I snap. "Just give me some time." The air in here is stifling. The concrete walls hold in the heat. I can't breathe.

"I never should have helped you." She sighs and looks down at her feet.

"Molly, please." My hand wraps around her wrist, her eyes look at me and they're swirling and angry and fiery. Like always.

"Lucius, the only reason you're not in Azkaban right now is because of me. And because of the money you promised me."

My hands clinch into fists. I feel the blood pulsing in my face. I should never have reached out to her after so long, after everything that happened.

But if I hadn't, I'd be in prison right now.

"I know. But the Ministry is watching my accounts and Narcissa…"

"Don't you have some muggle investments?"

I groan. "That's Draco's inheritance. You-Know-Who."

"He's dead. You can say his name."

"Fine. Voldemort wanted all of my assets. To protect Draco's inheritance, Narcissa took most of it and put in muggle stocks, real estate, bonds."

"I'm sorry your son has an idiot who'd trust a murderer for a father, but that's not my problem."

I want to grab her. I want to shake her. I want to make her see, but I can't. I won't. I need her.

"I'll find a way to get you the money, Molly. Trust me."

She laughs and it has a temperature of its own, a blazing fever. "How could I ever trust you again?"

"I said I'd get the money."

"This isn't about the money, Lucius!" she shouts. I start, feeling the power of her voice roll over me. "I mean, you're going to give me the money," her voice steadies. "But that's not why I don't trust you and we both know that."

"Molly," I say and reach for her cheek but I don't know why. She ducks away from my touch.

"I need the money by next week. I have to have the money by next week. I don't care what you have to do to get it." With that, she storms out of the empty room and slams the door, causing the single lightbulb to swing dangerously from the ceiling. The only thing left of Molly Weasley is the smell of raspberries and buttercream frosting.

I don't go home until late that night. I wander the streets thinking of what to do. The Dark Lord drained my liquid assets trying to win that war against Potter. All I have left now belongs to Draco. He's seventeen and it's his money, his assets, under his name. If I tried to sell one of the properties, or empty one of the accounts, I couldn't. It would require his signature and he hates me. He wouldn't give it to me. Not the amount Molly is asking. Not the 1,000,000 galleons she's asking.

What I don't get is why Molly's after the money at all? She won't tell me and she has never been the kind to care about money or status. Obviously. She married that idiot Arthur. Too good for him. She was always too good for him.

Narcissa sits by the bay window in the manor and stares out across the grounds. Just a year ago these halls were filled with the footsteps of Death Eaters, the screams of the tortured. My own screams.

I shudder.

"You're home," says Narcissa, but she doesn't move or even glance at me. I don't expect her to. I'm not even sure I want her to.

We're both strangers in this house now. Strangers to each other and to ourselves. I know why Draco doesn't come back here. I know why he drinks and wastes away his nights with dirty muggle women. But he's still a kid. He may have come-of-age, but he's still just a child who behaves like a child. A child who has all my money. I'm an adult. The responsibility is mine.

"Draco owled me today," says Narcissa.

"That's good," I reply. "How is he?"

"Fine. I think." She whispers the last two words. We're not fine. It's a lie to say so. But we will be, we have to be. We're Malfoys.

I walk into my study and slam the door. I pull out a quill and some parchment and try to pen a letter to Draco, to ask him for the money, but the words feel sticky and repulsive as I try to write them. I can't ask for money from my irresponsible son. It's embarrassing. And he wouldn't understand. He had his precious Harry Potter to save him at trial. I had no one.

I toss the bottle of ink, rage pounding through me. Thick black streams run over the desk and onto the floor.

There is someone. One person who may be able to help. But she's the last person I want to talk to, the last person I should talk to.

I pull open the bottom drawer of my desk, find the black box and unlock it. Wouldn't want Narcissa to know I have this.

The plastic feels cool on my fingers as I run my hands over the screen.

I dial.

I hold my breath.

"Hello?" I hear a voice on the phone.

"Petunia? It's Lucius."

**Hope you're liking it so far! I'm having fun with all the different POVs because it lets me really get into the mysteries and scandals in all of their lives. Back to some good Draco and Hermione soon. Please read and review. I appreciate it!**


	5. E1 - Hermione 2

The breeze blew against my face, feeling somehow warm and cold at the same time. It had been days since that morning in Diagon Alley with Draco, but for some reason, I am still thinking about it.

But what about it, I don't know. It just keeps replaying in my mind over and over again like I'm watching a memory in pensieve.

"I'm starving," says Harry as he adjusts his glasses. "Where should we eat?" We walk side by side down a narrow London street.

"We could go to the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry sighs. "We always eat there."

"Yeah, you're right. What about this place. It looks nice."

It does look nice. It has couches instead of booths, warm chestnut wallpaper and lanterns on the tables. It kind of reminds me of a library which is probably why I like it.

Harry ducks under the window. He grabs the hem of my sweater and pulls me down beside him.

"Shh," he says.

"Harry what's going on?"

"My aunt's in there."

"You can't still be afraid of your aunt."

Harry purses his lips. "I'm not afraid of her. She's with someone."

"Who?"

"Look."

I start to stand up, but Harry stops me.

"Slowly," he says.

I take a deep breath and try to, as covertly as I can, peer through the restaurant window. I've seen Harry's aunt at King's Cross before so I search for her wide eyes and long, wrinkled neck.

I find her and then across the table, I find someone else. For a minute, I think I've gone insane, but its real. Sitting across from Harry's awful muggle aunt, Petunia Dursley, is none other than Lucius Malfoy.

I drop back down beside Harry.

"What is that?"

"I have no earthly idea, Hermione."

"Maybe we should go in and try to hear what they're saying," I whisper.

"They'll see us immediately. It's not that big of a place."

I sigh. Harry's right, but that doesn't stop me from being curious.

Together, Harry and I lift our eyes over the brick ledge of the windowsill and watch through the glass. We can't hear what they're saying, but we can see their movements.

Petunia reaches into her purse and pulls out a thick manilla envelope. A waiter passes in front of them but I still see her push the envelope across the table. Lucius quickly peers through the folds and shoves the envelope in his jacket.

"Is she his drug dealer?" asks Harry, a look of utter confusion on his face. I try to stifle my laugh, but it comes out in little spurts.

Lucius nods curtly then saunters out of the restaurant. Harry and I turn our backs so he doesn't see us, but he walks the other way down the street anyway.

I glance back in the window. Petunia takes a calm sip of her red wine. Harry lets out a huff then pulls open the door to the restaurant.

"Harry, are you crazy?" I shout, but he's already inside and I know it's a bad idea, but I'm not going to let him do this alone.

We sit down opposite Petunia. She doesn't notice because she's staring down at her wine. When she looks up, she jumps.

"Harry what in all that's holy are you doing here? And who's that?" She glares at me.

"What are you doing here? And what were you doing with a Death Eater?" Harry asks.

Petunia purses her lips. "That's none of your concern."

"I always knew you were an awful bitch, but I never would have guessed you were on the side of the people who killed your sister."

She just rolls her eyes.

"Mrs. Dursley," I say as politely as I can. "He's a dangerous man and I'm just concerned-"

She laughs. "I can take care of myself."

"You used to flinch every time I walked in a room," says Harry, his face red and kind of splotchy.

"An act," Petunia says nonchalantly, "For you uncle."

"I don't understand," says Harry. "Why?"

"There's a lot you don't understand about the first war against that freak. And it's best for everyone if it stays that way."

"This is my world not yours. You don't get to keep secrets about it from me." Harry shouts. I grab his arm and squeeze it. He relaxes at my touch. His breathing steadies.

"What did you give to Malfoy?" I ask.

She eyes Harry, then me. "If I tell you that, will you stop asking questions and leave well enough alone?"

I look at Harry and he shrugs. "Fine," he says.

"He owes someone some money. I was giving him a loan."

"Why?" Harry spits.

Petunia sips her wine. "Why wasn't part of deal, Harry. Now if you'll excuse me I'm late from the Homeowner's Meeting. Mr. Baker's shrubs are a half an inch too high. We must decide on a proper punishment."

With that Harry's aunt stands from the table and walks out the door, letting it swing and crash behind her.

Something pokes me in the back. I adjust in the seat. "Ow. What is that?" I ask.

Harry reaches behind me and pulls out a thin rectangular card. "It's a hotel key card." I take the card from Harry. It's imprinted with bright red letter than read "The Royal Hotel".

"Anyone could have left this," I say.

Harry nods, but there is a troubling smirk on his face. "Or not."

"We're going to go check it out, aren't we?"

"Call Ron. You guys have a phone now right?"

"I'm not sure he knows how to use it."

"Just call him," says Harry as he grabs the sleeve of my sweater and drags me from the restaurant.

Here we go again.

**Sorry this chapter's a little shorter, but it's kind of the bridge between the first part of the episode and the second part. Please read and review. Thanks!**


End file.
